My Choice
by Kyrotec
Summary: A brief look into Molly's life in Crawford pre-game. Massive spoilers if you haven't played Episode 4.


_No one with an advanced medical condition? Were they fucking serious? _

Unfortunately, she knew only too well how serious they were. Still burned into her brain were the images from a couple weeks ago when Oberson's goons had escorted that poor elderly couple out of her living complex. She could still see the shocked looks on their faces and hear their desperate cries for mercy as they were dragged out into the streets. Word in Crawford Square was that the Board was about to unveil new rules that would eliminate any and all people in Crawford who were unable to give back to the community, at least as the administration saw such of people. Molly had been watching the numbers dwindle in Crawford since these talks had began. Oberson and company had made quick work of filtering out people who were likely to be a burden on the fledgling community, starting with the elderly, and moving onto families with young children. Molly could never be quite sure whenever someone dissappeared if it was because they'd been caught up in this silent massacre or if, by some miracle they were one of the lucky ones- those who were rumored to have escaped before the guards got to them. She understood their reasoning, but she still thought that those people who took a chance at running had to be a little desperate. The rest of Savannah was overrun. She hadn't seen the outside world in a long time, but she knew that much.

Still, the thought of leaving crossed her mind from time to time, especially when the numbness from the situation faded away and the brutal reality of what was going on took its place. She'd heard the Cancer survivors group was next to go, as their handicaps were common knowledge. Molly was fairly certain they'd already picked off a few of them, but she didn't know for sure. She'd had to hold and comfort her terrified sister when the guards had dragged one of the latest bodies by them in the yard. Her sister had sobbed into her chest, whimpering that she would turn herself in because she thought they would punish Molly for covering up her illness. Molly had managed to convince her to stay quiet long enough for her to retrieve a small amount of insulin from the supply stocks, but that had since been moved and locked away in the infirmary itself. Returning with the insulin in hand, she'd been able to convince her sister not to panic, and that everything would be fine- a statement that felt ghostly and meaningless as it left her lips. She'd spent many sleepless nights turning in their bed in worry or anger, either furious with the Crawford officials for unleashing some new horror upon the kid, or wondering what she was going to do to keep her safe the next day.

In the end, it was a choice- stay in Crawford and find a way to adapt to their 'system,' or brave the outside world and potentially become infected with some horrible disease. She had no way to manufacture the medicine her sister needed, and this was the main consideration that kept her from actively formulating a plan to leave. She had watched them build the barricade, seen the walkers piled up on spits, and she sure as hell wasn't going to let that happen to her sister.

"Molly?" Dr. Logan appeared in the doorway, wiping his hands from his last "procedure." Molly let her eyes roll over his bloodstained nitrile gloves, internally appalled with herself for being so used to the sight. "Come on in."

Molly got up and paused at the door to let the last patient exit. She was a young woman, a little older than herself, who looked pale as a sheet and had to brace herself on the doorframe and the wall as she passed. She never once looked at Molly and just stumbled off down the darkened hallway.

Dr. Logan paid no notice. He had Molly's file in his hand and was studying it as he looked back and forth from the picture in the file to the blonde girl who stood in the room before him. "Shut the door," he barked in a bored tone.

Molly obeyed, biting her tongue. Without waiting to be told what else to do she made her way over to one of the beds and sat down at its end.

Dr. Logan cleared his throat, "So Molly," he resumed, with a surprising amount of warmth in his voice, "What brings you in today?"

She hated that he could sound so callous, so calm, like nothing about this whole ordeal upset him. It was enough that she couldn't bring herself to answer. She still wasn't sure about what she was prepared to do.

Logan didn't seem to care whether she said anything or not. He droned on, "No allergies, good blood pressure, low resting heart rate. You're the very picture of health, aren't you?"

She fought the impulse to scowl as she noticed his eyes roving around her body with the last statement. She looked away, and replied, "I guess."

She usually avoided the clinic on principle, both because it was simply not a very pleasant place to be, and also because she knew Dr. Logan had a slight habit of abusing his position when it came to the women he treated. She'd never heard anything worse than she was used to experiencing, but the implication seemed to be wedged in between the words strung together by Crawford women whenever Logan's name would come up. Molly suspected, though she couldn't verify, that he had a particular interest in her. She wasn't sure what exactly gave her that impression. Maybe it was that the few times she had been there, he never refused to take her in, even for things he theoretically should have been too busy to handle.

He deftly sifted through the rest of the papers in her file. His next statement came out as a kind of greasy purr, "So what happened?"

Molly had been prepared for this. "I fell, on the job," she replied simply.

One of Logan's eyebrows arced noticably, "Really?"

"Mmm-hmm. While we were carrying the lumber out of the shed."

"Did you slip on something? You're normally quite sure on your feet. That's why you were put in that group."

Noticing that his words didn't seem to be accompanied by any actual suspicion, she felt calm as she padded her story, "No. Just fell. That's why Thompson said I should go get it checked out, make sure it didn't turn into something serious."

Logan stared, seeming perplexed, then nodded thoughtfully. He closed her file and laid it gently on the desk beside him. "Any pains anywhere?"

She thought for a moment about saying something rude, specifically directing his attention to one of the more provacative centers of her body, but gave up on this and simply replied, "Just the usual aches and pains- from working, stuff like that."

He looked her over as he approached her, "Have you been eating all of your rations?"

"Yes," Molly lied again, remembering that yesterday she'd managed to force her sister to consume most of what would have been her share. She smiled inwardly, recalling the small feeling of victory she'd had in watching the girl get her fill.

Doctor Logan came over and arranged himself so that he was face-to-face with her. She felt his hands on her as he felt the glands in her neck and shone a light in her eyes and down her throat. He then ordered her to lift her shirt.

She stared at him for a second.

He sighed, "Just so I can get the stethescope in there." His tone was both condescending and exasperated.

She bit her bottom lip and reluctantly tugged out the bottom of her shirt and jacket so he could slide the stethescope up inside the clothing. Very quickly following, she felt the cold head of the instrument press against her bare skin.

He put his other hand on her back, as if to steady them both. "Inhale. Exhale... Your breathing's good," he murmured.

Molly nodded. She couldn't look at him. He was too close to her. His head was mere inches from hers, and his words seemed to go directly into her ears as he spoke. She choked back a minute wave of rage as a few of his fingers slipped off the head of the stethescope and lingered a bit too long on her left breast.

_It could be worse_, she had to remind herself_. _It could all have been worse, she knew, if it weren't for Crawford, and it could quickly get worse again if she wasn't careful. That was why she had to stay focused.

Not wishing to spend any more time than she had to dwelling on the presence of Doctor Logan, she turned her attention to the safe against the back wall where her true objective lied. She swallowed hard, her resolve renewed. This asshole could grope her for as long as he wanted, so long as she got what she came for.

He certainly seemed intent on doing just that. She started a bit when she felt his hand withdraw from her clothing. He shot back a few steps and folded his arms over his splatter-stained scrubs, surveying her.

"So what do you think was the problem?" he inquired in a gravely tone, searching her body again, though this time it seemed to be for a lack of a diagnosis rather than trying to picture her in a liscentious manner.

"I dunno. You're the doctor," she returned, carefully curving the sarcastic tone that had initially accompanied the retort into one she hoped sounded more ignorant and innocent.

The statement apparently pleased Logan, and she saw a sparkle return to his eye.

He stared at her a long time, which made her tense, but then he nodded, seeming self-satisfied, "All right, Molly, tell you what, I just want to check you for a couple more possibilities, and then I'll let you go, okay?"

"Fine," she answered carefully, concealing a sigh of relief.

He stood up, "The equipment I'll need is in the other room. You stay here while I get it -don't move- I'll be right back."

"Sure thing."

He studied her for half a beat as he backed up, then he turned, shaking his head lightly, and strode out the door. As it closed behind him, Molly lowered her head. She listened for the lock, and once she heard it engage, bolted off the bed and into action.

She made a sprint for the medicine cabinet, surveying it as she moved. It had very few flaws, but she reasoned that the handle was probably the weakest point. She stopped and placed a hand on it. Her gaze flew from one corner of the room to another in a desperate search for something to bust it open. She eyed the array of small metal tools on a nearby stand. Before all hell broke loose in their town, she'd been a bit of a rebel and an outsider, spending evenings either with her sister or alone, doing things like teaching herself to pick locks as something of a passing amusement. She didn't know if she trusted her amateur lockpicking skills to get her in and out of the safe as quickly as would be nessecary, but at this point, she preferred it to the messier option of severing the handle.

After a moment of finding nothing else suitable, she quickly grabbed up a couple of tools and went to work on the lock. For a while, things were actually looking pretty good. If she could get in, she would just take a couple units for now. She'd memorize the room, then work on her skills, break in again some time later, and take some more. Someone would probably notice, eventually, but it wasn't like they had power to run many security cameras in Crawford. Most likely, no one would miss the Insulin, and no one had to know she had taken it. She just had to be careful. Her sister would be fine. She would be fine.

"Come on, Come on..." she coaxed the lock. She could feel beads of sweat mounting on her face as she worked the tools in every way she knew how. She was rusty and needed practice, that was for sure, but right now she couldn't focus on that.

She thought she heard a little click when a hand suddenly shot into her field of vision and, before she could do anything, tore her own from where it had been, leveraging her away from the cabinet and into the wall. She had time to watch her tools clatter to the floor in front of the safe before she was thrown into the wall and susequently pinned against it, spread-eagle-style, while the furious face of Dr. Logan eclipsed her view.

His voice rang like an echoing death sentence in her ears. "I should have known..." he hissed. "My first instinct was right."

Molly felt her throat go dry. She thought about struggling free. She thought about taking his feet out from under him and running away, but knew that even if she did escape, she'd still be no match for the thousands of armed Crawford orderlies that had to be patrolling the grounds at this hour. If she got free, if she even managed by some miracle to get out of the school building, she knew she'd be shot on sight. Then her sister would have no one to protect her, and all of this would have been for nothing.

"Please," she begged, writhing in the grip of Dr. Logan as she met his furious glance, "Just let me have some medicine."

"I'm not letting you have anything. I had an interesting discussion with Leeland on the way back here, and guess what I found out? Hmm? You said Thompson told you to come here? Thompson was escorted out of Crawford this morning. But then, you knew that didn't you? You- you- lying bitch. You'll get nothing. As a matter of fact, you just bought both you and your sister a one-way ticket out of Crawford."

"Please..." Molly reiterated, desperately. Adrenaline pushed its way through her veins, causing her to shake in his grip. In response, he pushed her harder against the wall. She scanned everywhere and everything she knew for a way out, but nothing was coming to mind. All she could do right now was try to reason with the man, "Please. My sister is sick, she needs the medicine." She searched the depths of his face again, finding his expression to be absolutely rigid and cold. Abruptly, reasoning gave way to bargaining, "I'd do anything."

"I bet you would," he scoffed cruelly. "If your sister is sick, she can come here and get an examination herself. Not that I expect you to actually be telling the truth... The last thing Crawford needs is to be nursing a couple of junkies in times like these."

This comment stunned Molly. She tried hard to surpress her fury as she stammered, "You can't be serious! I'm not an addict! I need the medicine..."

"For your sister, I know. You stay here." The statement sounded like he would leave, but he instead tightened his grip further, "I'm going to make sure Oberson knows all about this, and then I'm sure you and your sister will be..."

"No! Please! You can't! We need it... Please!"

"It's too late for..."

"She's diabetic!"

Logan froze. Molly trembled as she looked into his eyes.

His stare was cold, hard and undeterred, "You're not serious?"

She wanted to spit, "Why would I lie about that? Are you telling me there are people out there that are addicted to insulin now?"

"Molly..."

"She'll die... They'll take her away from me... or kill her. I can't let that happen. Please... just help me. I'll _do anything_." She looked him over again, carefully, and there suddenly seemed to be hope where there was none before. Something she'd said or done had slowed him, deterred him from his quest to make sure she was exiled. She had to act on that small ray of hope. She gathered her last bit of resolve and forced it into her tone as she spit out, "_Anything."_

Logan remained fixated on her in silence, his shark-like eyes boring into her as she could see the gears slowly turning in his mind. He looked down at the floor, breathing shallowly, and held this pose for a very long time. Periodically his eyes flitted back to her, sizing her up in ways that made her feel ill. When he finally spoke again, he didn't release her, but his grip loosened considerably.

There was a sparkle within the deep recesses of his eyes as they met hers once more, _"Anything?"_


End file.
